Advantage

“What’s the running count Catrina?” I heard the slightly amused male voice behind me say.

The running count was down two, but I didn’t say that. I just sat there, pretending that I thought he was talking to someone else. Not that I really thought it would work, it wasn’t like I had faked my identity or anything, that would be illegal, and I was always careful to keep everything I did legal. I just had walked in quietly trying not to draw much attention, and trying to not look so directly at the cameras that I triggered the fascial recognition software.

Contrary to popular belief, counting cards is not illegal, no matter how much casinos wished it was. Sure they could make some things illegal, like you couldn’t use any devices to help keep count, and conspiring with others was illegal, but just keeping count in your head was impossible to make illegal. You can’t make thinking illegal, even if that thinking was plus one, down two, plus one, etc and very profitable.

However, they could just decide that they didn’t want to play with you if they couldn’t keep their advantage over you. By keeping count you could have the advantage over them, and casinos were sore losers.

“Come on, Catrina,” the pit boss grumbled, “gather your chips and let’s go.”

I looked over my shoulder, he was the typical pit boss. Mid thirties nice suit, businessman haircut. He hadn’t bothered to bring security to the table with him, though I could see them lingering nearby around the slots. Since he knew who I was, he probably knew he didn’t need security, if he knew who I was he knew my history, and I’d never made trouble. Maybe they were just there because it was casino policy, or maybe he just wanted to show off for them.

I started gathering my chips as he’d told me to, making a fuss and arguing wasn’t going to gain me anything, I was done playing, they knew who I was. Making a fuss and not just walking out might even get me escorted to the back for new more updated pictures for them to share with other casinos and threats about trespass if I returned. Not that I was avoiding them sharing my picture by not going to the back, but the stills taken from the security video wouldn’t be as clear. As it was now, they weren’t pissed, they just wanted me to stop playing. It was annoying, but not really a big deal.

I’d gotten backed off many times, but never quite this quickly. I’d just barely gotten started. I hadn’t done anything that would tip off a dealer yet, I hadn’t changed my bet once yet since the count was still down, I’d bet table minimum each time. I hadn’t lingered and wonged in, if I was planning to wong in, I wouldn’t have sat down yet at this table. I really didn’t know what had tipped them off to go looking for my picture.

I hadn’t made any money yet, at least I was at break even and not down. Well bankroll wise I was break even not down, travel expenses wise, I was definitely in the red. At least Amy was enjoying the trip.

I was beginning to have a hard time getting to sit at a table long enough to make the advantage pay off. That was another myth about card counting, that the minute you sit down you start winning and make a fortune. I only had a small advantage over the casino, pretty much an inverse of the usual house advantage the casino had over players who didn’t count, or who did count but then made mistakes while playing. Even when I did everything correctly, I could still have bad nights. The advantage was statistical.

Card counting required putting in time, lots of time. My advantage over the casino was only one percent, and spread out over many hands. For every dollar I earned, one hundred dollars had to pass through my hands. That couldn’t happen if I was spotted as soon as I sat down.

As we walked towards the cage, the pit boss proved to be chatty, and seemed to be rather proud of how quickly he’d spotted me. Which credit where credit is due was true, usually casinos didn’t figure out I was counting till I’d taken them for at least thirty or forty thousand in a night. Lately though, the problem was that there were just too many pictures of me floating around. They weren’t noticing I was counting, they just recognized me.

I listened as the pit boss bragged. People liked being listened to, and even though being liked wasn’t my goal, it tended to smooth the way. Also, knowing how he’d spotted me was good information. Maybe I could avoid it next time.

“That wig was what caught my eye,” he boasted. “It was so obviously unnatural. So I asked myself, why’s that one wearing a disguise?”

“Lots of people wear wigs, how’d you know I wasn’t just going through chemo or something?” I prompted him. “What made you think it was a disguise?”

“Eh, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “There’s just something about the way it sits. It just looks wrong, like a disguise not something you just wear. I guess I just have a sixth sense about things.”

“Hmmm”

“Anyway,” the pit boss said and started in on the usual speech about how they reserved the right to refuse services, how I was no longer welcome to play blackjack at the casino, but if I felt like it, I could stick around and spend money at the restaurants and shops, not that I’d be wasting my money like that, and giving them more opportunities to get good photos of me.

It had happened at the last casino I was at too, and the pit boss had been similarly chatty. He’d mentioned how distinctive the long red hair was, not the three thousand dollars I was up, not that I’d changed my bet once the true count was up and I had the advantage, not that I’d lingered and wonged in. After that, I’d gone out and bought a wig, I thought it would do the trick. Of course that was another expense I wasn’t getting to recoup if I couldn’t put in the time at the table.

Once I had traded my chips in for cash, the pit boss escorted me to the exit and sent me off with a “Nice to have met you.”

———————————————————————————-

Amy was sitting out in front of our RV in her favorite folding camp chair tying a fly. She wore hiking boots, blue jeans and a t-shirt with a light flannel shirt over it looking every bit the woodsy woman she was with her blonde shag held back by a backwards baseball cap.

Getting to go fly fishing was a big part of why she’d happily decided to come along and share the driving this trip. Of course we weren’t at the casino near the river she wanted to fish yet, that was still a few stops from here. But she enjoyed playing with her gear in anticipation once she was done logging into work. So she’d been pulling out her fly tying gear when I’d left for the casino.

“Hey Cat,” Amy said in a slightly confused tone as I got out of the car. “Why are you back so early?”

“I got backed off.” I told her as I picked up the brown bobbed wig that had been sitting on the passenger seat next to me since I’d decided that there was no reason I needed to wear the hot uncomfortable wig over my hair that was uncomfortably shoved into a wig cap and getting sweaty driving back to the campground.

“Already?” Amy asked with surprise.

“Yeah.” I grumbled. “You were right that the wig looked unnatural. It looked too much like a disguise.”

“Sorry Cat,” Amy said. “I guess we’re leaving early?”

“We can stay tomorrow like we planned if you want.” I said, “I’m sure the next casino I was planning to go to is getting a fresh screen shot of me from security footage right now. It will be fresh in their minds tomorrow, by the day after next, it will be less fresh. Plus it should be busier at the casino since it will be the start of a holiday weekend, so easier to just blend into the crowds.”

“Ok,” Amy smiled and leaned back. “I wanted to go to a cool flea market near here tomorrow.”

“Sounds fun.” I said as I walked over to the camp chair Amy sat in, and bent down and gave her a kiss. “I’ll go with you. I’m going to go take a shower now, my hair is all sweaty.”

I headed into the RV, and into the shower, glad that even though this was a flop as a business trip, at least it did seem to be working out as a bit of a vacation.

————————————————————-

Amy seemed to be having a ball bouncing around the flea market. I tried to get into it, but found myself dwelling on the fact that I was supposed to be making money, and why I wasn’t. I was glad Amy seemed to be enjoying herself, but was still upset about not being able do what I’d planned.

Maybe it was time to retire from card counting, or at least take a long sabbatical, I’d made a decent amount. Travelling further and further to get to casinos where I wasn’t known by all the pit bosses was getting harder. And it wasn’t like we were living off it, the bankroll I was growing was for our nest egg.

I supposed I could just take my bankroll and stick it in an index fund or something if I really was just burnt at every casino. It would continue to grow, and be less work. I didn’t really want to though. Some of it was the money, my return on investment counting cards was high, my per hour average was a hell of a lot better than what my freelance day job paid. I had to admit, some of it was also probably my ego, I just liked beating them at their own game.

I’d asked another card counter, Doug, if he was willing to come observe me and tell me if I was doing something wrong that was tipping them off. He’d watched from a few tables away. I sat down, some gambler guy I didn’t know recognized me from a few weeks ago, calling me “Red” the way old men always did, and joked loudly about hoping I hadn’t spent everything I’d won last time all in one place. Doug said it wasn’t anything I was doing, it was just that my looks made me rather hard to forget.

“This is going to be so perfect for that dark corner in the den, I can’t wait to see it there when we get home.” Amy told me as she carried the vintage lamp towards the car. “Don’t try to use it though till I get a chance to rewire it.”

“So how many years is the lamp I’m not supposed to use going to be sitting there till you get to it?” I teased Amy who had a bit of a habit of having more project ideas than time to complete them.

“I’ll get to it,” Amy grumbled as she carefully laid the lamp down in the trunk of the car.

“Well at least it will look nice till you get to it.” I conceded trying to temper the earlier jab as I climbed into the car’s passenger seat. “And it was quite a bargain.”

“They are listed for three times as much on ebay,” Amy boasted.

“Well it’s good that I have such a frugal wife,” I pointed out, “considering I might need to retire.”

“You’ve been backed off before,” Amy pointed out, “why is it getting under your skin so much this time?”

“I hadn’t done anything that tipped them off, I hadn’t even started making money, the only reason they backed me off was because I was recognizable. That’s happened at both casinos we’ve stopped at this trip. If I can’t even get started playing, that’s the end of it. I got spotted in the wig even faster than at the previous casino with my natural hair loose, and let’s face it, this hair is just too unique. If I can’t cover it and hide it, it catches eyes.”

“The problem is it’s too much hair to put under a wig. It’s never going to look right trying to get a wig over that mass.” Amy said. “Most people who wear wigs do because they lack hair, it looks different with all that hair under there.”

“Actresses sometimes wear wigs when they have long hair,” I pointed out. “It’s usually not that obvious.”

“Very few have quite as much hair as you. It’s not just long, it’s down to your tailbone. Plus it’s really thick and since you just trim your split ends yourself and never really get it cut, it’s not like you have layers taking out some of the weight. Also, actresses have professional hairstylists smooth down their hair before the wig goes on, and I bet most of those wigs are way more expensive than the one you bought.”

“Are you saying I should shell out for a higher priced wig and go to a salon to get my hair professionally flattened each time I wear it?” I wrinkled my brow at the wife whose frugality I’d always admired. “That would cost a fortune, and eat up a bunch of the time I should be putting in at the table.”

“No, of course I’m not suggesting you do that. I’m not sure that even if you did, the wig would work as well for you as it does for actors, since they had other advantages like camera angle to make the wigs look more natural. I just don’t think a wig really solves the problem of hiding all that rather recognizable hair.”

“I do hats sometimes, but they really only partially obscure the hair. I guess there just isn’t much to be done about it.”

“Well of course there is something pretty simple you could do about it, but I know you don’t want to.” Amy hinted at what she’d said when I’d bought the wig, -You paid what for it? You could have just gotten your hair cut then dyed it for half that!-

“I don’t want to get it cut.”

“I’m not saying you should,” Amy sounded mildly defensive, “just that it would work.”

I sat there stewing. I knew Amy wasn’t trying to pressure me to get my hair cut. She was just telling the truth.

Most of the other card counters I knew changed up their look pretty regularly, I did too to a certain extent, just not going as far as cutting my hair. The rest though, did often change hair styles, different cuts most often, colors occasionally. The men would grow out their beards, play that way for a few months, then shave them off.

The pressure wasn’t coming from Amy, it was coming from the simple fact that it was the smart thing to do. The pressure came from the simple question, did I care more about not getting a haircut than I cared about building the nest egg that was key to Amy and I getting to pursue our future dreams.

“Anyway,” Amy interrupted my rumination. “What do you want to do for lunch?”

I’d been supposed to be having lunch today at the casino, I’d even hoped that I was going to be brought a comped meal at the table, though Amy was better at the comps, since she didn’t have the same motivation to not get noticed. Amy could sit at a video poker machine milking a few bucks into several drinks, a meal, and even a free room occasionally. She played to break even instead of chasing the elusive jackpot like most players, recycling the casino’s money through the machine instead of feeding it her own money.

She didn’t always come with me to the casino. She viewed it as a splurge since even though she was good at getting more value in comps than money she put into the machine, she always pointed out that the things she earned were perks, not cash. It wasn’t like counting cards, we couldn’t live on free cocktails or in my case mocktails so I wouldn’t lose my edge.

I’d taught her to count cards, and she could do it fine at home where it was nice and quiet, distraction free, and she wasn’t expected to act natural and keep up a conversation without losing count. In a chaotic casino, it was a whole different story though. She would lose the running count after the second hand. Half the time she’d forget to count the dealer’s cards. Worst of all, if anyone spoke to her while the dealer was dealing, she forgot which cards she’d counted and which ones she hadn’t.

There’s this myth that card counting takes complicated math, but really it’s just basic arithmetic, the hard part of counting cards is not getting distracted while acting natural and being social in a place with people, so many people. People walking around and talking, people saying numbers and doing little victory dances, not just people in everyday circumstances. Plus the slot machine noises, flashing lights making it hard to think. All while playing the game perfectly.

Video poker was different though, She could sit in a relatively quiet area as she picked what cards to hold and which to discard in her own time. If someone talked to her, there was no count to remember. So sometimes she came to the casino on these trips, but more often she logged into work, went fishing, or hit a flea market and did her own thing.

We’d had plans to try a local brewery for dinner though. Of course, their lunch menu was probably just as good and a bit cheaper, which Amy would appreciate. Then we could do something cooked over the campfire tonight, which was always fun. Plus, we could pick up beers to take back to the RV park and both enjoy without having to worry about who would drive. So we could be in our cozy RV and relaxed and maybe get to enjoy a little intimate time together.

“Let’s go to that brewery for lunch instead of dinner. I’ll drive so you can relax and have as much beer as you want.”

Amy smiled and nodded at the idea I knew she would like.

————————————————————

We’d asked for a seat outside, where we could watch the busy mainstreet of the mildly touristy small town. Amy, who always took longer deciding what she wanted to order than I did, since she liked practically everything, sat looking at the menu still as we waited for our drinks. I just leaned back and people watched.

Down near the end of the street, was an ice cream parlor, as expected it was surrounded by families with excited children. Across the street from the ice cream shop was a bike shop that also offered rentals. A young couple who looked like they were still dating from their slightly flirtatious behavior as they picked out bikes to use for the day.

Then I watched a pick up truck park just a little down and across the street from the brewery. A couple who talked and moved with the casual familiarity of people who’d been together a long time, maybe married, got out of the truck. The maybe wife pointed down the street, to a salon directly across the street from the brewery, where I sat with Amy, saying something to which the maybe husband nodded. Then they walked together down the street, stopping outside the salon. The husband looked like he said a quick goodbye, and began to walk off, but the wife reached out and held him back.

I watched the maybe wife with shoulder length dirty blonde hair nervously ask the maybe husband dropping her off something, he nodded several times as they talked. Gently ran his hand down over her hair as he said something the woman nodded to. Then they embraced, in a quick but tender kiss before going separate ways. She walked into the salon, he headed off to the hardware store just a little ways down.

That was when the waiter came over since Amy had finally looked up from the menu like she’d decided what she wanted. We both ordered, then Amy’s phone chimed with some urgent work thing, so I continued people watching while Amy texted.

For a bit, I observed other people, then right about the same time the maybe husband came out of the hardware store, the maybe wife arrived at the styling chair nearest the large window at the front of the salon. The maybe husband disappeared into another shop down the street.

The maybe wife in the salon pulled her phone out of her pocket and turned it on. Her shoulder length hair was wrapped up in a towel. I watched as she had an animated discussion with the stylist, showing her picture on the phone. I could see the stylist was looking and talking as she swung a silky cape over the maybe wife.

When the stylist took the towel off the damp shoulder length hair, she talked as she began to detangle the damp hair. The maybe wife nodded, but also looked at her reflection with a slight trepidation, as the stylist began to section the hair, and fasten most of it up out of the way.

The stylist combed the thin layer of hair she left down smooth against the maybe wife’s neck, and raised a pair of scissors to it. Then she began to snip. It looked like the stylist was cutting off pretty much all of the shoulder length hair. I could see the silver blades opening and closing right up by the maybe wife’s hairline, then I watched the evidence that most of the hair was being cut off as the long lengths fell to the floor.

“Here’s your Summer Wheat Shandy,” the waiter announced, distracting me from my people watching as he placed the light drink in front of me, then turned to Amy and told her about the beer flight he was setting in front of her. Then he announced, “Your food will be ready shortly,” and walked off.

I lifted up the cool drink, the glass already dripping with condensation. It was an interesting contrast between sweet and tart, and very refreshing.

“Sorry about having to answer all these texts.” Amy said as she looked back down at her phone and sipped the beer the waiter had suggested was a nice appetizer.

“It’s fine,” I assured her. “I’m just enjoying being here.”

I went back to people watching. The dating couple had mounted their bicycles and were heading off out of town in the direction of the trails. One of the mom’s at the ice cream shop was holding a crying kid who was pointing at a dropped ice cream cone on the ground, and the maybe wife in the salon watched the mirror with a tight expression as the stylist combed a lock of maybe wife’s damp hair up into fingers that were almost touching scalp and snipped it off.

It was becoming obvious that maybe wife was getting a very short haircut as the stylist combed down more hair from higher up maybe wife’s head and sliced it off close to maybe wife’s scalp.

Just about level to the tops of maybe wife’s ears, the stylist began to move the fingers she was snipping the hair off against a little further from maybe wifes scalp. Maybe wife’s eyes stared intently at the mirror as the stylist worked forward cutting the hair next to maybe wife’s face short. She looked as though she had doubts as the long lock fell to the cape and slivered to her lap.

The stylist took out the final clip that held the last of maybe wife’s long hair to the top of her head, she combed the hair straight up and back slightly. Holding the hair up, the stylist simply sliced it off as a chunk, letting the suddenly much shorter hair flop back down onto maybe wife’s head and dropping the chunk of long hair to the floor.

The stylist had begun combing the short hair on the top of maybe wife’s head into her finger and slicing another inch or two off of it when Amy said, “I’m so sorry Cat. I think the problem is solved now.”

Amy and I chatted about decorating the den as the tourist town drama continued. The dad bought the crying kid a new ice cream cone to replace the dropped one and cleaned up the dropped cone. Maybe husband placed the bags from his errands in his truck, and then leaned against it while scrolling on his phone. An older couple arrived and older wife excitedly entered the antique store while older husband reluctantly followed. Maybe wife’s haircut continued, the stylist taking smaller and more deliberate snips at the short hair.

Our food arrived, and Amy and I shifted from chatting about the den to chatting about the food that had arrived.

The stylist began drying and styling maybe wife’s brand new pixie cut. Crying kid now full of ice cream got settled into a stroller, and the mom and dad looked much more relaxed as they started window shopping pushing the stroller along. Older couple emerged from the antique store with a pair of end tables and began trying to figure out how to fit them into the compact car.

Maybe husband offered older couple a hand getting the car rearranged to get the side tables in while he continued to wait for maybe wife’s haircut to be finished. It looked like that would be pretty soon as the stylist and maybe wife seemed to be discussing finishing touches. The stylist was ruffling the hair at the front of maybe wife’s head, letting the bangs fall forward and talking as maybe wife contemplated her reflection with a slight frown and said something. After a little back and forth, maybe wife finally nodded to something, and stylist started snipping a little more length off of maybe wife’s bangs.

“Do you think you want dessert?” Amy asked me as I absent mindedly poked a cold french fry.

“I don’t know,” I said as I stopped poking the cold french fry. “It would depend on what they have. I don’t want anything heavy like cake, but if they had something light I would go for it. I think I saw sorbet.”

“I’ll ask for the menu instead of the check when the waiter comes back,” Amy said.

I watched older couple walking towards the ice cream parlor, and maybe husband go back to leaning against the truck and waiting for maybe wife. Maybe wife’s haircut seemed to be finished. The stylist was taking off the cape, and spilling the locks she’d cut off to the floor. Maybe wife looked a little unsure about it as she ran her hand over her new pixie cut and looked down at the puddle of long locks on the floor. Unsure as she looked when she looked at the puddle of her hair and her reflection, when she looked at the stylist she looked resigned and gave her an only mildly unsure smile.

“Here you go,” our waiter said as he handed me a copy of the dessert menu, where there was indeed a short list of sorbet flavors.

Once we’d ordered our desserts, and I looked back towards the mainstreet, maybe wife was meeting maybe husband by the truck, but instead of getting in after a quick chat and maybe wife nervously showing maybe husband her new look, they crossed the street towards the brewery.

“Hey, Fred,” maybe husband called to the host at the door in a friendly familiar manner. “Ok if we just grab a table on the patio?”

“Sure,” Fred waved them to go ahead. “I’ll send Sue out to take your orders.”

“Thanks Fred.”

Maybe husband and wife walked out to the area under the awning, and they seated themselves at the next table over from Amy and I.

“You really don’t think I look like a guy?” Maybe wife asked as she felt her bare neck.

“Of course not honey.” Maybe husband assured her. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” maybe wife sounded like she didn’t completely trust the opinion of the husband. “I’m just still not sure this was a good decision.”

“I’m pretty sure that after a couple of shifts of not having to put your hair up, you will think it was a very good idea.”

It was just a few moments after our waiter had brought my local blackberry sorbet garnished with fresh mint leaves and Amy’s peach cobbler to the table, that Sue the waitress came out to maybe husband and wife’s table with two sets of silverware.

“Oh wow,” Sue said when she got there, “you got your hair cut. It looks nice.”

“Thanks,” maybe wife said as she self consciously covered her bare neck again. “I think I need a little time to get used to it.”

“What inspired you to get it cut?” Sue asked, maybe picking up on maybe wife’s nervousness.

“It was just getting to be uncomfortable having to keep it in a tight bun my entire shift.” Maybe wife explained. “Plus all the time getting ready.”

“I know what you mean,” Sue nodded, her ponytail bouncing up and down as she did. “Though I don’t have to put mine all the way up, pulled back is enough. Well you look really cute with the pixie cut.”

“Thanks,” maybe wife said again, still not sounding like she was sure she believed it.

“You guys know what you want, or do you want to see the menu?”

Amy and I finished up our desserts while maybe husband and maybe wife ordered their own lunches, and then maybe husband went back to assuring maybe wife that the haircut was a really good idea, even though it was obvious she had mixed feelings about it.

“You don’t think the bangs are too short?” Maybe wife brushed through the hair that rested a little above her eye brows. “I was worried about it being in my eyes at work, but maybe I should have had Peggy leave it longer.”

“No, it’s perfect,” maybe husband dismissed her concerns. “It really brings out your eyes. Your eyes were the first thing I noticed about you.”

Maybe wife blushed and smiled and nodded. It reminded me that my eyes had been the first thing Amy had commented about. It was one of the things that had set her apart from most of the other people I had dated. Most of the people I had dated, commented on my hair, sometimes to the point of it seeming like all I was was my hair. Several even freely admitted they’d always had a thing about redheads. Amy commented on my eyes and loving how I laughed at the jokes others in the audience had missed during the movie we’d seen.

We’d finished dessert and our check arrived before maybe husband and maybe wife’s lunch did, so Amy and I got up and headed towards our car, slowly window shopping as we went, pausing at a used book shop with a shelf of local interest books out front.

Standing there as Amy lifted up a book on local fishing, I saw my faint reflection in the shop window. Looking at the reflation, the bright hair dominated, my eyes were mostly just a shadow hidden below. I glanced to Amy’s reflection her face very visible as the sunlight highlighted it, the blonde layers staying back and not casting a shadow.

“Do you think I should cut my hair?” I raised my hand to the mass that over shadowed me.

“Huh?” Amy looked at me.

“Do you think I should cut my hair?” I asked again, then added the context. “Do you really think it would help me not be as easily spotted in casinos? Do you think it really would make a difference?”

Amy closed the book and put it back on the shelf. “I think it probably would work and make a difference, but I’m not going to tell you that you should get it cut.”

“You don’t think it’ll just throw them off for a couple of weeks and then they will get new pictures of me with short hair and we’ll be right back to them just looking for the short haired red head instead of the long haired red head?”

“It won’t just be you switching one look for another though,” Amy explained. “With short hair, you’ll have a much easier time changing the vibe of how you look almost every time you walk into a casino. With it short, you can much more easily do things like hide it under a hat. And if you want to change the color, you can use like a half of a thing of temporary color, not like twenty packages. And most of all, if you wear a wig it would sit right. And frankly, it would just be a bit less memorable.”

“So you do think I should get it cut.”

“I think it will work.” Amy insisted. “But I’m not telling you what to do.”

“Do you think I will still be…”

“Pretty?” Amy smiled at me. “Of course you will be.”

“You’d still find me attractive?”

“Of course I would.” Amy actually snorted a short laugh. “You know how much I love gals with short hair.”

“You do?” I asked with a wrinkled brow, since she’d never said anything about me getting a haircut before.

“Yeah,” Amy snorted again then listed off celebrities she’d told me she had crushes on, mentioning specific roles and times many had short hair if they didn’t just always.

“So you’ve thought I should get my hair cut for years and you just didn’t tell me?”

“Stop being melodramatic. I think you’re adorable with long hair, I just think you’ll be just as adorable with short hair.” Amy rolled her eyes, “Do you really need my approval? Or are you trying to get me to take on the responsibility?”

“I’m just having a hard time figuring out if it’s worth it.”

“A haircut will cost less than what you spent on that wig you can’t use unless you get a haircut. You justified the cost of the wig, if the wig was worth it, a haircut is worth it.” Amy pointed out. “So financially it’s a no brainer, you should get a haircut. Feelings are harder to quantify…”

She was right, just going by money it was a no brainer. Feelings though… I loved being a card counter. I loved how it would help Amy and I build our nest egg for our future. It gave us an excuse to take these road trips. On the other hand, my long hair made me feel beautiful, romantic, and feminine.

“You’ll come with me, right?” I asked her.

“Of course Cat.”

————————————————————————–

“Maybe we should just forget about it,” I said to Amy, who had taken on finding the best deal on a haircut for me as a mission after we found out that the salon across the street from the brewery was fully booked for the day.

If it had just been me, I would have simply taken the excuse to not get the haircut I didn’t really want anyway. Amy though saw it as a challenge to be overcome, a fish for her to land. It wasn’t even that she’d really wanted me to get the haircut, I’m sure if I’d chickened out before we made it to the reception desk that she’d have just accepted it. Since we did make it to the reception desk though, she just couldn’t let go of the challenge. So as soon as we got to the car, out came her phone and the search was on.

“Relax, this one looks perfect,” Amy said, then tapped the screen and held it up to her ear. “Hi, my friend was planning to donate her hair, and your website says you do that…. She has well over twelve inches to donate…. When you say ‘it’s just the donation, not anything fancy’ you don’t mean you just hack off the hair and then leave it like that?…. Oh, ok…. Can we make an appointment for this afternoon?….. Perfect, the name is Catrina…. thank you.”

“I guess you found a place?”

“I didn’t just find you a place to get a haircut,” Amy announced with pride, “I found you a place to get a free haircut. Heck, they have some sponsor who pledged to donate ten bucks per inch of hair they get donated, so you aren’t just getting a free haircut, you’re helping make the world a better place. It’s an even better deal than I get for letting students practice on me at the beauty school.”

“Amy I’m not sure this is something I want to save money on.”

“Oh relax,” Amy dismissed my concern. “They have good reviews. Here’s one, five star… ’Rachel is amazing with kids. Get’s them in and out of the chair before they have a total melt down.’”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Ok, here’s one from a guy named George, ‘Super friendly young ladies. Always take great care of me.’ And David, ‘Nice and quick.’”

“That’s not helping.”

“Hang on, I’m sure I can find one from an adult woman. Uhhhh……” Amy scrolled for several moments. “Ah, here we go. Here’s one from Jane who isn’t only talking about her kids, ‘Can get the whole family taken care of without breaking the bank. Not afraid to make sure the girls and my pixie cuts stay off our necks all summer even if the girls fuss about it.’”

“I’m still not feeling reassured by these reviews.”

“They’ve got four point seven stars.”

“For kids and guys.”

“And moms.” Amy pointed out. “Hair’s hair. Kids’ hair and guys’ hair isn’t made something different from women’s hair. Besides, if you really hate it, it will grow out. If it’s terrible you can get it fixed at the beauty school when we get home.”

“If it comes out terrible I have to live with it for weeks and I don’t think it will help me not stand out.” Not that I really trusted that getting something terrible fixed at the beauty school was really going to be an improvement, sometimes Amy came home with her hair quite a bit shorter than usual because she’d had to have it redone with the instructor supervising more closely.

“Well you’ve got the wig. Remember half the point is that with short hair the wig will fit better.” Amy reminded me with a touch of exasperation. “And I really don’t think it will come out terrible. I’m a little worried you might hate having short hair, but that isn’t any less likely with a more expensive haircut.”

I glared at her.

“Come on Cat, we need to go. Your appointment is in twenty five minutes and maps says it’s a fifteen minute drive.”

“Fine” I conceded, taking a deep breath, Amy was rather obsessed with punctuality.

I supposed she was right, though most of that would just be arguments for not getting a haircut at all. I kind of just needed to know if getting a haircut was all that stood between me getting to fly under the radar at a casino or getting recognized.

————————————————————–

“I was thinking a bit like this,” Amy said as she pointed to the picture in the magazine we had spread out on the coffee table of the waiting area of what I wasn’t sure should be called a salon. “But maybe something that lays a little flatter.”

When we’d pulled up and I saw the sign above the strip mall store front said “Gerry’s Family Salon and Barbershop,” I’d balked again, but Amy had somehow gotten me inside simply by the power of her panic that we might be late for an appointment. Somehow Amy’s panic about being late wasn’t affected by the possibility that I might want to skip out on the appointment completely.

Inside it occurred to me that I had no idea what I was going to say to the stylist, and I had just minutes to figure it out before my appointment. Amy just grabbed a slightly out of date magazine from the pile and found the section labelled “lady’s short hairstyles.” I hadn’t seen anything I actually wanted. The picture she was pointing at was mostly short but with longer sweeping bangs in the front.

“I was thinking something simpler and longer.” I said. “Like a bob.”

“You need it to be pretty short so it won’t be poofy under the wig.” Amy said. “You need something that will lay flat under the wig.”

“I guess,” I agreed reluctantly.

“And a bob won’t change the way the hair frames your face. The point is for it to look different. I see what you mean about simpler though, more versatile.” Amy pointed out. “Don’t worry, I’ll find something that will work better. Trust me?”

“I trust you, buh…” I’d been about to elaborate that even though I trusted her I still wanted to pick my own hairstyle, but we were suddenly interrupted.

“CATRINA” the lady, at the chair that a guy with a fresh crewcut just got out of, called over. “I’m ready for you.”

I took a deep breath, gathered my courage and walked to the chair, forgetting that Amy and I still hadn’t picked out a style I liked. I could just get a bob, I could always go shorter if I was feeling braver later. Though I knew it would annoy Amy if I paid for another haircut so shortly after not taking the opportunity to go really short when it was free.

“Hi Catrina,” the cheerful girl who was so young she must barely be out of beauty school, or possibly barber school. “I’m Madison. Becky, the receptionist, said you were donating your hair?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok, are you just donating the twelve inch minimum?”

Twelve inches would not get me anywhere near short like I’d planned. Twelve inches from my hair would still be what most people would consider long, and hardly transformative like I needed.

“I was thinking of going shorter than that,” I told her as she began to comb through my healthy hair. “I was trying to find a picture…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Madison told me. “You can just tell me how much you want to donate and I’ll neaten up whatever is left. We’re supposed to keep the donation haircuts pretty simple.”

“That sounds good,” I said, figuring that if she cut off the length in a straight line, neatening up what was left would automatically become a bob. “I was planning to donate most of it and go short. Pretty much donate the full length.”

“Great!” Madison agreed with enthusiasm, and put her hand right at my nape. “That will get us much closer to our goal. From here, that’s at least two feet.”

“My friend Amy saw on the website you guys had a sponsor donating ten dollars per inch.”

“Yup, so every inch you are up for giving up really helps.” Madison twisted my long hair and used a clip to hold it up against my head.

I looked over my shoulder at Amy, who was walking over holding the magazine.

“Is that your friend Amy?” Madison asked, as she also turned to look.

“That’s Amy.”

“I found a picture that I think would be perfect,” Amy said as she held it out to show Madison. “Just like we talked about.”

“Oh!” Madison sounded excited. “So you really meant it when you said short and donate the full length! Perfect, it’s for such a good cause.”

I strained, leaning over to try to get a look at the picture Amy was showing Madison. Amy briefly tipped the magazine page for me to see, I looked at the fairly simple crop just slightly shorter on the sides than the top, it was shockingly short but soft and elegant. Soft slightly wispy sideburns, a gentle natural hair line, the hair in front went slightly to the side blending to the top just the barest hint of bangs on the forehead that weren’t at all blunt. I felt my jaw tighten.

“See,” Amy said, “Simpler like you said. I think this is what you had in mind, and you’ll look so cute.”

I thought about saying I was not sure about going that short, but just decided to go along with it. Amy was right about how getting my hair cut shorter would make it much easier to get the wig to look more normal. Plus she was probably right about it helping me look different, I remembered when one of the girls on the soccer team back in highschool went from having long wavy hair to a pixie cut, and how we all had trouble recognizing her at first. That had never happened when a longhaired friend went to a bob, it just didn’t have the same tranformative effect.

“I guess that works.”

“Awesome,” Madison enthused as she shook out the cape and started to swing the billowing fabric over me. “This will be such a great donation, it’s going to be a great wig for some little girl, and raise over two hundred dollars.”

I nodded slightly as Madison fastened the cape around my neck, and gave both her and Amy a smile. As much as I was a bit unhappy about getting a short haircut, I was glad that some good would come from it. Amy finding the picture did also alleviate some of my worry that if I just said pixie I would be given a standard boy haircut.

“Thanks for finding the picture Amy,” I said pretending to mean, trying to mean it, as Madison took out the clip that held my hair up.

I watched my reflection as the bright colored locks swung down, giving me just a brief last look at my loose long hair before Madison greedily gathered up the hair she was excited to harvest. I only half listened to Madison talk about how well the donation matching was doing at raising funds, as she combed through the beautiful hair I selfishly wanted to just keep and put it into a dozen or so tiny ponytails.

I sat there feeling silly and unattractive when Madison left me to go select scissors to use. The cape of course hid the v-neck top I wore that showed off my petite shoulders and slight cleavage was completely obscured. The place where the collar of the black nylon cape bit into my neck slightly made it look much shorter than it was, killing any elegance, plus the way it pushed the skin up almost made me look like I had a double chin. Most of all though, the hair so many thought of as my best feature was sticking out at weird angles from the little elastics that held it in tiny ponytails. Tiny ponytails I was about to lose.

I found myself gritting my teeth hard when Madison came back behind me holding the long pointy silver scissors. I could hear that Madison was chatting in an encouraging manner, but I was too nervous to actually process the words, instead my eyes simply followed the scissors that were opening dangerously close to my head.

I felt madison lift one of the little pony tails up and away from the back of my head. Then the sound started, along with the slight tugging as Madison cut off the little ponytail.

Crunch-scrunch-shnap

Madison held the silky ribbon of hair aloft, letting the the copper strands catch the light. Madison was talking about how many inches the ponytail was, but what I really wanted to know was how long the short tuft I could feel laying against my head was. I was nervous it was less than what was in the picture Amy had shown us. Madison carefully laid out the ribbon of hair out on the counter.

Madison was back behind me, and ready to cut off more little ponytails. Briefly I felt the cold metal brush against my scalp. I swallowed and figured it was just her trying to get underneath the ponytail, it wasn’t that she was putting the blade right against the skin.

Scrunch-ssshrunch-shnap, crunch-schnap, crunch-chruuuuch-ssssshnup

I sat thinking way to much about having felt the cold metal on my scalp as Madison laid out a couple of more ponytails next to the first one and commented about how they were all a good length.

The next ponytail Madison decided to cut was on the crown of my head, so I watched Madison lift it up and place the blades of the scissor around it. I had a very slightly sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I saw the blades close just maybe two inches from my scalp, and the short tuft that was left only flop slightly without the weight to pull it down completely flat.

Madison just ignored the hair sticking up as she continued to eagerly harvest ponytails, seeming to be focused much more on the length of the ponytails she laid on the counter than what the hair left behind on my head looked like. As I watched the haircut progress in the mirror, I began to worry that the thick hair that stuck up from my head would still be a problem for the wig. It certainly didn’t look good.

Madison lifted a final ponytail, and cut it off.

Shrunch-runch-shnap.

“Geena!” Madison called over to another lady who had been working at a computer by the reception desk. “Bring the tape measure. I think it’s over two feet!”

“Really?” Geena, a somewhat older woman, said as she looked up from the computer.

“Yup!” Madison confirmed as she held up a couple of my red ponytails and gave them a gentle shake showing off how shiny and healthy they looked.

As Madison and Geena measured the ponytails and talked about reaching fund raising goals, forms to fill out, and speculated about whether the wig makers could use the unusual pretty red or if they’d have to overdye it like they usually did, I looked in the mirror and tried to smooth down the choppy tufts of hair that stuck out from my head. It didn’t look good. It didn’t even look like a professional haircut at all, I could have done just as well chopping it off myself or really better. Finally Geena looked over at me, and seemed to notice how worried I looked.

“You need to finish the haircut,” Geena quietly reminded Madison.

“Right, of course.” Madison nodded then came back behind me and rearranged the cape so I was covered again. Then assured me, “Don’t worry we’ll have this looking nice and neat in no time.”

I had sort of thought maybe I would be taken for a shampoo, or more likely Madison would just wet my hair with a spray bottle and then start snipping it into the soft crop from the picture Amy had shown her with scissor or a razor. Instead, Madison grabbed a set of clippers. As nervous as the clippers made me, since they didn’t seem like the right tool to achieve a soft texture to me, I tried to remember, Madison was the professional and probably knew what she was doing. I watch her click a small guard onto the end of the clippers.

Standing behind me, Madison turned on the clippers and nudged my head forward.

Clack, hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

I felt the clippers begin to scrape up my neck and past my hairline. Slowly they travelled over my nape and up the back of my head. Finally not quite at the top, I felt Madison use the comb to guide the clippers away from my head.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzwoop.

Madison tilted the clippers sideways, spilling a loose clump of red hair onto my shoulder. It looked like an awful lot of hair, more than I thought would have gotten me from the uneven tufts to the length in the picture Amy had found. I could feel the clippers travelling up my neck again, and knew that even if I was right, there wasn’t really any point in stopping the haircut. As the clippers went past my hairline, I knew it was already way way too late. The clippers creeped over my nape making a second path just next to the first path that had already cut too much hair to hide. I tightened my lips and squeezed my hands into fists, and just hoped I’d been wrong.

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.

Madison dumped another worrisomely large clump of hair onto my shoulder. I barely had time to think about it before the clippers began to mow another path up the back of my head, and another clump of hair landed on my shoulder.

Madison chatted excitedly about how amazing I was for doing this as bits of my hair rained down covering my shoulders and neck. Madison repeatedly ran the humming clippers up the back of my head. She steered the clipper around my ears, the buzzing seeming even louder.

When Madison stepped away towards the counter in front of the mirror, I thought the annoying buzzing of the clippers might be over, but she just changed the guard on the end of the clippers and came back behind me.

I sat there listening to the buzzing as Madison started using the clippers to shape the hair just above my hairline. The hair rained down on my neck and shoulders in little sprinkles. The snippets prickled where they got trapped between the cape and my sensitive skin.

The slight discomfort added to the growing worry I had that the haircut wasn’t going to look at all like the picture Amy had shown Madison. I wanted to say something to Madison to try to encourage her to more closely match the haircut from the picture, but I really wasn’t sure what to say, and had a sinking feeling it was probably mostly too late anyway.

I thought it might even simply not really be something Madison understood how to do, that she mostly just knew how to do one haircut for each length, and that this was the one she knew for this length, and details like leaving the neckline soft just weren’t really things she thought about. It seemed possible that there was a simple sequence of steps Madison habitually followed each haircut, and pictures just told her what length to aim for. It definitely fit in with how the conversation started with her saying I could tell her what length and she’d neaten it from there.

So, I said nothing and just hoped I was wrong and just didn’t understand haircutting well enough to know that what Madison was doing was going to result in the soft crop Amy had shown her instead of the crisp tapered haircut I was worried I was getting instead. I did have some clue, since I trimmed my own split ends, but of course this was a lot more involved than that. My only other experience was when I’d hung out with friends getting their hair cut or just watching what happened in salons occassionally, and there definitely times when there were in between stages that I wouldn’t have guess would lead to the final results.

When Madison finally seemed to be done with the hair around my neckline, she tilted my head up. I watched her slip the guard off the end of the clippers and casually hold it in the same hand she held the comb. Then she combed a short lock that felt like it was just above the area she’d buzzed to an even length.

Buzzzz-zwooop

The blades of the clipper rattled over the teeth of the comb, and a chunk of hair fell to my shoulders. Madison just happily kept chatting away, as she combed up more hair and ran the clippers over it again right against the teeth of the comb, sending more hair tumbling to the cape.

Buzzzz-zwoooop, buzzzzz-swoop, buzzzzzzzwooot, buzzzzzz-zwooooop.

Madison swiftly carved away at the hair above my nape and behind my ears. Then she worked her way forward and up and over my ears, slicing off any hair that might have covered the tops. She flicked the hair she’d cut off the end of the clipper and away from the comb with the casualness of routine. The clumps of shorn hair that didn’t reach the floor began to slide from my shoulders down the front of the cape and into my lap.

Buzzzz-zwoooop, buzzzzz-swoop, buzzzzzzzwooot, buzzzzzz-zwooooop.

As Madison worked up and around my ears, I watched in the mirror as the style that bore little resemblance to the picture Amy had shown her took shape. As I had fear, the cut Madison was executing was shorter and far harsher than the soft feminine look I’d agreed to. With a flick of the clippers over the comb, my sideburns had been reduced to a length I couldn’t image possibly looking like the wispy one from the picture.

It was a relief when Madison finally put down the clippers, both to my ears and because I hoped the scissor she exchanged the clippers for might help get us at least a little closer to the haircut we’d planned.

Still holding the scissors and comb in one hand, Madison picked up a spray bottle. She swiftly misted my hair, the cold mist dampening not just my hair, but my ears and neck to. She combed through what little hair I had left till it was wet enough that my scalp felt cold.

After she returned the mister to the counter, she began combing my hair forward down against my forehead. Even though I wanted to see what would happen, the slightly dripping hair in my eye made me reflexively close them. I felt the pointy tip of the scissor inserted into the hair plastered against my forehead about halfway between my eyebrows and hairline.

Shinip, sssssssscissnip, shhhhhhnip.

I felt some wet bits of hair fall to my eyelashes, nose and cheeks, though other bits stuck to my forehead stil even though I was pretty sure they’d been cut. Madison combed down, scraping off the loose hair stuck to my forehead and snipped at it some more.

Ssssssssnip, sssssshnup, sssnip, ssssnip.

I sat there feeling Madison cut the hair along my forehead very short. The bangs of the haircut Amy had shown Madison had been very short, but something about the way Madison was cutting the bangs felt off. It felt like she was cutting a perfectly straight line, and I was having trouble imagining how the perfectly straight line was going to have the soft look from the picture instead of looking blunt. And short as the bangs had been in the picture, it felt even shorter.

I again thought about saying something, but I still didn’t know what to say, and maybe I was just wrong. I knew almost nothing about haircutting, maybe it was going to look exactly like the picture and I just didn’t know. It wasn’t even like I could see, since I had my eyes tightly closed to keep the falling hair out of them.

Madison took just a couple of more snips, and then I felt a fluffy brush dust the loose hair off my face. I could finally open my eyes.

I only had a moment to look at the bangs that lay on my forehead. They were just as short and blunt as I had feared they would be from the way it had felt as Madison had cut it. After that brief moment, Madison combed the hair up and back, and trapped it between her fingers.

Ssssssssssssssssslick.

Madison sliced off the hair that suck out above her fingers, and immediately was combing the hair back and trapping it again.

Ssssssssssssssssslick.

She flicked away to cut hairs that stuck to her fingers. dropping it to the floor, and then simply combed the hair on the top of my head back and up into her fingers once again. She worked backwards, at a simple steady pace, seeming to just follow a memorized sequence, not to really be considering each slice carefully.

Sssssssssssshlick, Shhhhhnip, ssssssssslick, ssssssssssssnick.

I compared the way Madison was cutting my hair to the memory of having watched the way the stylist at the nice salon in the touristy town had cut maybe wife’s hair just a couple of hours earlier. The whole haircut had started so differently, Madison had just wanted to be told a length, not have a long discussion the way maybe wife had had with her stylist, and of course my hair hadn’t been washed, just divided up to be harvested dry. When the actual cutting began, maybe wife’s stylist had paused often, ruffling and observing, Madison hadn’t done so even once. The stylist had mostly taken little deliberate snips into maybe wife’s hair, Madison was cutting the hair off with quick slices. And of course, the stylist hadn’t started by buzzing off a bunch of maybe wife’s hair with clippers the way Madison had mine.

Sssssssssssshlick, shhhhhnip, ssssssssslick, ssssssssssssnick, sssssssssssluck.

Madison just kept cutting my hair almost mechanically, combing it up slicing it off, moving back on my scalp about an inch, combing it up and slicing it off. After reaching the back of my head having cut all the hair on the top of my head to a uniform length, she started back at the hairline again and repeated the pattern more off to the side.

Sssssssssssshlick, sssssssssshhnip, ssssssssslick, sssssssssssshhnuck.

Madison worked back and forth, cutting the hair first on one side of my head, then the other. My damp hair was mostly sticking up at weird angles as she worked, making it hard to see what it really looked like. It all just seemed to be a single length, just a little longer than the hair she’d cut with the clippers earlier.

When Madison finally finished the pattern of simply cutting all the hair off at the same length, she finally combed it down. It was sort of about the length form the photo right on top, but didn’t really seem to be the same shape. Maybe some of it was the shape of my head, but I suspected mostly it was the way Madison had cut it.

Madison swapped the long pointed silver scissor she’d been using for a different pair, a pair with a blunt tip, and toothy blade. I’d seen a similar pair of scissors in the hair care section at the store described on the packaging as texturizing shears, but I’d also heard a friend who like me trimmed her own hair call a similar looking pair thinning shears. I wasn’t really sure what the difference was, but hope they were the former, not the latter, and that just maybe they were the secret to getting the soft look of the crop in the picture.

I watched hopefully as Madison combed up what was now nearly dry hair and brought the toothy shears up to meet the hair sticking up in the combs teeth.

Shcomp, shcomp, shomp.

Madison pulled the comb away with a terrifyingly large clump of red hair stuck in it’s teeth. She ignored it and simply combed up the hair behind where she’d combed up the first bit and raised the shear which also had clumps of hair stuck between its teeth and repeated the three chomps.

Shcomp, shcomp, shomp.

This time, Madison shook the clumps of hair out of her comb and shears, letting it fall to the floor. I looked in the mirror, the hair wasn’t really noticeably softer looking, maybe just a bit less choppy, and definitely more flat. She followed the same path with what I had decided were thinning shears not texturizing shear that she’d followed as she cut all the hair on the top of my head to a uniform length.

Shcomp, shcomp, shomp. Shcomp, shcomp, shomp. Shcomp, shcomp, shomp.

As much as I’d had a hope at the beginning of this stage that maybe I would get something vaguely similar to the haircut I’d asked for, that hope had steadily faded with each chomp of the thinning shears. I could clearly see in the mirror that this was turning into a really basic little boy haircut, not the elegant crop. I felt dumb and vulnerable.

Madison went back to the regular scissors very briefly, making the hair between the top and sides transition a bit more gradually. Then she picked up a little trimmer, which made a whiney hum. Madison used the trimmer first to shave around my neck line, and then she came in front of me and began shaping my sideburns. I’m not sure why I didn’t think to tell her I didn’t want then shaped, because when she was done they had a hard line at the bottom, that was even less like the wispy sideburns from the photo than before.

Madison barely styled my hair, just combing it down with a distinct side part that hadn’t been in the photo Amy showed her, and vaguely pointed the hair dryer at me for a few seconds.

“Ok, there you go,” Madison announced, “all nice and neat.”

She was just telling me she was done, not asking me what I thought. She’d picked up a mirror and sort of vaguely circled with it around the back of my head, just barely letting me see, not enough time to really examine the quality of her work. This wasn’t like towards the end of maybe wife’s haircut when the stylist and her had a little discussion about if the bangs were too long. Madison didn’t expect me to say anything other than a vague polite statement before leaving.

I hated the haircut, not just because the back was shorter than I’d asked for, which I knew couldn’t be changed, I hated the shape and texture. I felt embarrassed to even go show Amy what I’d just let Madison do to me. I swallowed nervously and gathered my courage.

“I was kind of hoping it would be a little softer,” I nervously said. “The bangs are really blunt.”

“Softer?” Madison looked at me with confusion.

“The haircut in the photo was more wispy and closer to one length all over.” I reminded her.

Madison looked down at her watch with a bit of frustration and sighed. “I guess I can give it a bit more texture with the razor and blend the length a bit more.”

When Madison opened the drawer and took out a razor, it was obvious she was trying to be quick. She picked up the sprayer and rewetted my hair much more quickly than she had the first time, before returning the bottle to the counter.

She combed up my bangs. She put the razor against the hair, about halfway between my scalp and the cut ends, and pulled upward. Then she simply dropped the chuck of hair she’d sliced off into my lap.

Obviously on an intellectual level I had known putting hair back wasn’t an option and the only thing Madison could do was cut it shorter, but I’d thought that meant a few tiny snips, not chunks. My heart raced as I watched madison repeat the process a bit further back. I sat there thinking saying something had been a mistake as I watched the pile of hair in my lap grow.

It was obvious Madison was rushing as the sliced off hair flew in all directions. She once again followed the same path back over my head, then off to the sides. This time when she finished cutting and put the razor the was soiled with crumbes of red hair, instead of combing my hair down neatly, she ruffled it briefly while pointingthe hair dryer at it, dislodging more hair to fall to the cape.

“There, is that better?” Madison asked, once again showing me the back. “The top is now closer to the length on the sides, and it’s wispier.”

I nodded as I looked in the mirror. It was a much better shape and softer looking, but to get that it had become even shorter. I tried to convince myself to not care about it being a bit shorter since it was clearly an improvement over the original haircut, but I kind of just felt really sad, especially when my eyes drifted over to the bundle of long red ponytails.

———————————————————–

“This is so not the same haircut you found a picture of,” I complained as we drove.

“No not really,” Amy admitted looking at my head. “It’s really cute anyway though.”

“I look like a little boy,” I complained. “It’s shorter, and it’s not the right shape. It’s only the right texture on top because I complained, and it’s not the right texture and so much shorter in the back.”

“You don’t look like a little boy,” Amy insisted. “Ok, maybe it is kind of a little boy haircut, and yeah it’s a lot shorter in the back than the picture, but you still look really good.”

I looked over at her to see if she really meant it before turning back to the road I had to pay attention to. Amy just smiled at me, then reached over and stroked the back of my very very bare head.

“You just need a little time to get used to it.” Amy assured me. “It feels really amazing like this. Just like velvet.”

I nodded, even if getting used to it wouldn’t lead to my loving the haircut, at least it should lead to me not feeling quite so self-conscious.

———————————————————-

I sat at the blackjack table, chatting, playing, sipping slowly from my beer bottle which actually was filled with water, and keeping track of the cards. This casino was the last stop on our trip. The holiday weekend was over, so it was pretty quiet, especially the hotel area. Amy had come along since the casino was offering pretty good comps to attract weekday gamblers, so she thought she could easily get us a good meal or two at the very least.

Most delightfully it was in an area that was urban and liberal enough that we’d been comfortable simply being out, so we’d been hanging out like the couple we were, just casually getting to enjoy each other’s company. Though Amy didn’t want to play blackjack with me, she’d stopped at the table several times telling me about how she was doing playing video poker. It was something that worked well for me, it gave me excuses to sit out a few rounds if the count was low, so I encouraged it when we were in casinos where we felt safe openly acting like a couple. So it wasn’t a huge surprise when I felt her hand on my shoulder.

“Hey,” Amy bent down and said softly right into my exposed ear, “I got us a room. I’m going to go take a bubble bath. Come up as soon as you get bored here and we can have some fun up there.”

Before Amy stood back up, she gave me a peck on the cheek and slipped a keycard into my breast pocket. I put my hand on top of her hand, looked up and smiled at the sparkling eyes that looked down at me. Then I watched as she turned and walked off towards the hotel lobby.

I turned back to the dealer and other players. They all smiled at me in a knowing manner. I smiled back as I felt myself blush slightly.

I glanced over at the shoe, it was actually a pretty good moment to depart, they’d be changing out the deck in the shoe very soon and the count wasn’t that good anyway. A wife in an amorous mood was a very good excuse to leave without anyone thinking about the timing. I could come down early in the morning for the last day fresh and well rested, since I wouldn’t have to deal with unhitching the RV.

“I’m going to call it a night,” I announced to the table as I gathered up the small pile of chips I had out on the table, as there were a few knowing chuckles from other players.

I followed the same path the woman who was the love of my life had taken just a few minutes earlier, and headed to the room number written on the folder the key card came in. I entered the room and looked around, it was a pretty typical, maybe a bit extra swanky, hotel room, a couple of beds, a desk, dresser, and a couple of chairs, a little extra spacious though. It was obviously ours for the night, since I could see a couple of our bags and the clothing Amy had been wearing strewn across one of the beds. From the open bathroom door, I heard the sound of running water.

I got out of my own clothing, piling it on the bed next to Amy’s and slipped into the bathroom. Amy was stretched out in the large round tub, surrounded by an impressive cloud of bubbles. The room itself may have been only a bit above standard, but the bathtub was an impressive upgrade.

“That was quick,” Amy commented with a smile as I climbed into the lather topped warm water with her.

“It was a good time to go anyway,” I said as I settled in next to her, feeling her slippery skin against mine.

“How’d you do?” Amy asked as I kissed her damp shoulder.

“I’m up,” I assured Amy, as I began fondling one of her nipples.

“Up enough that this was worth it?” Amy asked as she stroked a hand over my shorn head.

I felt my face cringe ever so slightly at the reminder of the impulsive sacrifice. It had worked, I hadn’t been recognized again since I’d gotten the drastic haircut, so I’d been able to play for as long as I’d thought was a good idea at each of the casinos we’d stopped at. Every time I looked in the mirror I felt a bit sad and weird though. The upside to the haircut I hadn’t expected was that every night Amy had gently stroked her hand over it as we cuddled each night. Not that she’d never done that before when I had my long hair, but since the haircut the frequency and duration had skyrocketed. My feelings were so mixed.

“I’m going to have to put all the expenses into the soread sheet before I can decide,” I joked, and then flipped the conversation on to Amy before it could dampen my mood too much. “I assume you lost considerably less tonight than this room would have cost us?”

“Seven dollars,” Amy told me with a proud chuckle, as she leaned forward and turned off the water before the tub started to overflow.

“That’s my girl,” I praised her as I slid around to face her.

Amy’s eyes sparkled as I looked down at her. I began to kiss her as she reached up , and began to pet the velvety hair on my nape. As I felt around for her clit, I decided, yeah, the haircut was worth it.